


Straight On 'Til Morning

by Salmagundi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, based on/inspired by "Thief of Always"
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmagundi/pseuds/Salmagundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored of his life, Peter Kirkland accepts a stranger's offer to take him to a place where he can have everything he could ever imagine. However, he soon learns that "paradise" comes at a hefty cost, one that he might not be willing to pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This is partially based on (and largely inspired by) one of my favourite books growing up - "The Thief of Always, by Clive Barker. It's very good, I highly recommend reading it. Plus there's a movie adaptation of it coming out soon.

_"All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, 'Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!' This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end."_

\- J. M. Barrie (Peter Pan)

 

*

 

I.

Peter dropped his knapsack beside the bed, a frustrated little huff in his throat as he flung himself down, burying his face against the pillows. He didn't even care that he was still wearing his shoes, though his father would have scolded him for doing so. It wasn't like he cared what his father thought. He froze midway through that thought as he heard a knock at the door.

"Peter? Are you in there?" Arthur's voice came through the wood, only slightly muffled. Peter felt the sudden childish urge to yell 'no!' even though it was stupid.

"What do you want?" He called back instead, half turning onto his side so he could glare at the door. If he stared hard enough, maybe it would go all the way through and Arthur would know just how not-happy he was right now.

No such luck. "Come on, Peter. Don't fool around - you're already late and we'll be going to dinner in just a moment! Get cleaned up and changed!"

"I don't want to!" Peter clenched his fists in the coverlet, his blue eyes darting toward the dresser where the picture of himself and his parents sat. "You can't make me go!"

"Oh for heaven's..." He could hear the growl in his father's voice. "Stop this foolishness. I'll have you know, we didn't have to rearrange this whole evening just so you could come along. You're lucky Mr. Jones was nice enough to invite you."

It sounded reasonable, but Peter didn't care. He didn't want to meet this man his father kept talking about so much. It was just like all of the others since Arthur had begun dating again. They didn't matter - none of them mattered. "I don't like him!"

"You haven't even met him!"

"I don't like him!" Peter insisted hotly, "You shouldn't go out with him!"

"I already told you that this is not a date..." Arthur's voice came back slow and cajoling, but faintly embarrassed too. They both knew it was a lie. "Come on, Peter... just give this a chance, that's all I'm asking..."

"No!" He sat up, fists clenched. "You're going to replace Mom! You don't even care about her anymore!" The boy felt a slight hitch in his throat. "Well, you can forget about her, but you can't make me! I'm not going! I don't want anyone else!"

"Damn it! Stubborn brat!" The rattle of the doorknob, and Peter was glad that he'd locked the door. The sound continued as Arthur tried to open the door, with no success. A moment later he heard the smack of flesh against wood - must've smacked the door with his hand... - then Arthur's voice again. "Fine then, Peter. But if you won't come and have dinner with us like a proper gentleman, then you can do without tonight!"

"...your cooking is terrible anyway..." Peter muttered to the door as he heard his father's footsteps receding down the hallway. He threw himself back on the bed, staring up at ceiling and biting his lip. "I hate you. I hate you!"

His gaze went to the picture on the dresser, at the smiling faces - Arthur looking so happy, the way he hadn't ever since that fateful day. He hadn't seen his father smile like that in longer than he cared to think about. Peter gave a low whine in his throat, snatching at one of his pillows and flinging it across the room. The picture tumbled to the floor with a crack, broken glass scattering across the carpet. "I hate it here..." He curled up on his side with a long sigh.

Then he recoiled as he realised there was someone just outside his window.

The figure on the other side of the glass grinned. It was a man - with strange pale hair and eyes that were a deep reddish colour. His smile was wide and oddly sharp somehow. The man rapped his knuckles against the window and mouthed a few words. Peter stared for a moment before he crept toward the edge of the bed and carefully slipped to his feet.

His fingers fumbled over the latch. As soon as it was undone, the window flew open with a clank and a gust of wind that smelled of dead leaves and damp soil. "Hey! Thanks. The awesome me was getting kind of bored out there!" The man slipped inside to stand right in front of Peter. He looked past the boy to the rest of the room before pushing past. "This is kind of a boring room, isn't it? So stuffy! Not what I expected at all! You are Peter Kirkland, aren't you?"

"Y-yeah. Uh..." Peter frowned, ready to say something when the blowing curtains distracted him. He moved to close the window and paused. He poked his head outside and looked down. Yeah... his room hadn't mysteriously moved to the ground floor while he wasn't looking. "How did you get up here?"

The white-haired man turned his head with a frown, "Come on, you can't ask the awesome me such silly questions. I got up here because I'm me!"

"But who are you?"

"Ah-" Red eyes narrowed into a sly look, "You haven't heard of the awesome Gilbert? No wonder you hate your boring life!" He leaned one shoulder against the wall, plucking up one of Peter's books and giving a slight curl of his lip. "History? What kind of kid wants to read that? I mean really! What you need is some proper excitement!" He snapped his fingers, straightening up and chucking the book to the floor. "I know!" An arm wrapped around Peter's shoulders and drew him close in a conspiritual huddle. "The great Gilbert likes you, Kid, so I'm going to make you an offer - not just for anyone mind you, just for the people that I think have the potential for awesome!"

"W-what?"

A lazy grin, like a cat but more toothy. "How would you like to go to a place where things are always fun and never boring? Everything you could want all the time - excitement, all that jazz! It's like Christmas every day!" A sharp spurt of laughter, though the humour made no sense to Peter. "This place - the Hetalia House, it's called. It's your wildest dreams come true, I mean it!"

"I-" It did sound good but, "What about school and stuff?"

Gilbert let out a sharp snort. "Are you serious? You're telling me that you would pick going to school over an awesome place like this? Maybe I was wrong about you, kid. You are a boring one."

"I'm not!" Peter huffed. "I want to go, I just..."

"Well, this is kind of a limited offer, you know. I mean, can't just leave the awesome me hanging! I've got a lot of other places I could be. So-" Gilbert smiled, a slow, curling smirk, "-what'll it be?"

Peter looked toward the closed door. Somewhere below his father was getting ready for his date... And what did Peter have to look forward to... homework... another trudging day after week after month of school and always with the same building sense of sludging through a mire of depression and boredom.

_/Life is too short, Peter.../_

"I-" He drew a slow breath. "I'll go with you."

A flash of something went through Gilbert's reddish eyes - like lightning, there and gone - and he held out his hand. Peter's smaller one slipped into it, the grip cold and strangely damp, and then Gilbert was on the windowsill with Peter behind him, and then the world flipped and they weren't falling, but settling to the ground with a jarring ease.

"Come on, kid, no use wasting time right? Right!"

Peter looked back over his shoulder as he was led on, stumbling for a moment on the curb. His father's car was still in the driveway as they reached the street corner, Peter's curtains still fluttering in the window above, visible until they turned a corner and passed out of sight.

 

 

II.

 

"Is it far?" Peter only asked after they'd been walking for a while. In hindsight, he should probably have asked earlier, but somehow he'd assumed that it was close - or that they'd be taking the bus or... well... he'd assumed something, that was certain. Now he was beginning to wonder.

"You are impatient!" Gilbert laughed, "I like you more and more! You're a lot like me, kid, and that's a good, good thing. Peas in a pod, that's us two!" He slung an arm around Peter's shoulders in a companionable fashion. "To answer your burning question - no, not far at all. In fact, we're here already!" He stopped walking so abruptly that Peter stumbled.

"Wha-" Peter blinked, only to find they'd stopped just short of actually running into a brick wall. He stumbled backward a step and looked up. And up. The wall was so tall that he couldn't see the top past the fog. "This? But this is a wall."

Gilbert scoffed. "A wall, he says! Where is that fine imagination I thought you had, my young friend? There's never just a wall, is there? I mean, what use is a wall?"

"It's to keep things...out." Peter trailed off, looking first to the right, then to the left. On both sides the wall stretched as far as the eye could see. The pieces came together. "So the place is on the other side of this? Where's the door?"

Another of those smirks. "You're looking at it."

Peter narrowed his eyes, brows crinkling. "But this is a wall! There's not a door here."

His companion gave a yawn at this, stretching slowly. "So? Just because you can't see it, doesn't mean it's not there. Just go on through, you'll see." There was something about his tone that made Peter bristle. The boy crept forward, reaching out a hand. His fingers touched solid brick. Blue eyes darted back to Gilbert who was looking at him with a bored expression. Peter bit his lip and pressed his hand against the wall, feeling stupid as he pushed at it. Pushed, and his hand didn't move, grimaced for a second and then pushed again for the hell of it.

And his hand sank into the wall - the solid wall. His heart stuttered in surprise as his entire arm vanished after it. As he stepped forward, it gave way around him until he was standing in a misty place with no evidence of anything and nothing he could see anywhere near by. A hand came down on his shoulder and he jumped.

"See, what'd I tell you? Now c'mon, this place is almost as boring as the one you left - and that was pretty bad!" Keeping his hand on Peter's shoulder, Gilbert ushered the youth forward, striding steadily through the mist until it began to clear around them. Peter hadn't noticed it at first until he could finally see colour again - hints of blue. His heart leapt and he surged forward into the world again, but a much brighter world than the one he'd stepped out of just a few seconds ago. It was like stepping into the warmth of mid-summer, despite the fact that it had been grey and the butt-end of winter back at his home. Peter shrugged out of his coat as the heat crept straight through to his bones, closing his eyes and just breathing in the scent and the warmth that had been so far away only minutes ago.

"Watch out!" Peter froze in place, eyes opening and head jerking around, just in time to see a fuzzy white and red blur dart between his feet. His gaze snapped up to see another form barreling down on him, full tilt. He was unable to do anything but gape as the other person plowed into him, sending both of them tumbling to the grass. Peter landed hard enough to be stunned for a second, only just beginning to catch his breath when a solid weight came down across his midsection and knocked all the air out of him.

He lay there for a moment, spots dancing in front of his eyes, then heard a voice - not Gilbert's - "Hey... uh... you okay?" Peter blinked several times, his vision clearing enough to give him the chance to look up into a pair of concerned blue eyes. Blonde hair fell down across the other boy's forehead, except for one mawkish strand that stuck up at an impossible angle. "Hey...?" The strange boy shook his head, the light of panic coming into his eyes. "Oh god... I killed you!"

Peter let out a croak, interrupting the other child's flailing. He coughed, still feeling sore and dizzy, but at least he could breathe again. "I'm not dead."

The boy stared at him for a moment, like he'd just seen a ghost, then he perked up. "You're alive! I saved your life! ...somehow." A cough, a cleared throat. "Well, I am the hero!" He flashed a bright smile, then pushed off to the side and held out a hand to help Peter sit up.

"Ugh..." Peter rubbed at the back of his head, looking at the strange kid who'd run him down. He might've said something cutting about this whole 'hero' nonsense - he'd inherited more than a little of his father's short temper - but it was hard to stay angry in the face of that sunny and painfully genuine expression of happiness. So instead he gave his head a shake, biting back the words. "Who are you then, Mr. Hero?"

A pause, the other boy looking at him with a blank expression before his eyes brightened. "I'm Al! But you can call me... uh... Ace or something. Yeah, that sounds cooler." He crossed his arms in front of his chest but his expression of blissful glee vanished as a furry blur careened off his shoulder and sent him tumbling face-first to the ground beside Peter.

Raucous laughter burst from behind both of the boys and Peter turned to see Gilbert standing there, grinning like a madman. "Some hero, losing to a puffball like that."

The small white feline sitting on top of Alfred's chest licked at one fluffy paw nonchalantly and gave its short tail a flick. It looked to Peter, who outstretched one hand with a certain caution. The cat stretched out its neck and gave a slight sniff - almost derisive.

"Kiku!" Both boys, the cat and even Gilbert, turned at the voice. A figure emerged from the house, moving toward them. At first Peter couldn't tell if it was a male or female or what age they were. It flickered almost, like one of those eye-puzzles, seeming like an old man for one moment, a young woman the next, and then the person was standing in front of them and it was a man, a handsome young man with long, jet black hair. The cat stood, finally regaling Peter with a good view of the single large red spot blazoned across its back, and leapt into the stranger's outstretched arms. "I'm sorry if he bothered you." The man assisted Peter to his feet, fingers cool and slightly dry.

"Oi, we're getting to the touchy-feely crap now, are we?" Gilbert took a step backward, letting out his breath in a sharp huff. "Well, that's it for me here then!"

"W-wait a second! You can't leave... we just got here!" Peter blurted, staring at Gilbert in disbelief.

"True, kiddo. But you know how it is when you're me - or I guess you don't, 'cuz you're not. There's places to go, people to do, awesome to be. It's a full time gig!" He clapped a friendly hand against Peter's shoulder, "You'll be fine kid, you've got moxie." Gilbert gave one hand a casual wave before moving toward the mist wall that still lingered at the edge of the grass. A bird flew down, a fat clumsy thing, and perched on his head as he vanished into the fog.

It wasn't until Peter was faced with the prospect of being left completely alone with these strangers that it really occurred to him: this was real. Quick on the heels of this thought came another, "What about my dad?" He blurted the words out without thinking, but Gilbert was already gone.

As the boy stood there gaping, he felt the gentle brush of a hand against his arm. He looked up into a pair of dark eyes and a warm, if slight, smile. "Don't trouble yourself too much, young one. It's Gilbert's way. You are Peter Kirkland I assume." There was a strange light to the man's eyes, "You have a lot of spirit. My name is Yao."

There was something about Yao that made Peter feel at ease and he smiled back despite his worries. "Good to meet you, Yao. I... I'm just worried, I guess. I didn't even tell my dad I was going..." He felt guilt settling in his belly at the memory of their last screaming match. Would his father be frightened to find him gone?

Off to the side, Alfred had finally managed to scramble to his feet. "What do you mean? Isn't it always our parents who send us here anyway? He probably knew you were coming already."

Peter's eyes narrowed, hope warring with disbelief. Could it be true? "But he never said anything."

Alfred shrugged. "Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise." When Peter's fretful look did not fade, Alfred gave his head a shake and took hold of Peter by the hand. "I bet it was. C'mon, you can even call him and see! Right, Yao?"

The casual use of the adult's given name jarred Peter more than he could say. His own father would not have allowed such disrespect. Yao just gave a slight dip of the head, though his odd smile did not change. Peter felt something as they passed him, a cool heaviness in the air - the scent of something faint and sweet, like pressed flowers. But they were inside then and the phone was there and Peter had other things to worry about as he dialed his home number with unsteady fingers.

"Hello?" Arthur's voice came over the line, the unease melting away at the sound of it. No more concerned than usual, he seemed. "Who is this?"

"It's me, Dad." Peter swallowed.

"Peter?" There was a note of relief to that word. "So you've arrived there alright?"

Just like that, the rest of his worries eased. A glance to the side showed him a grinning and satisfied Alfred - an 'I told you so' expression on his face. "So you knew I was coming here?"

A pause and Peter could imagine the serious look on his father's face. "I admit, I was skeptical of this whole business at first, but I was assured that this would be the ideal solution - a chance to relax, for the both of us. Have you settled in there? Do you want to come home?"

He had only to say the word and he knew his dad would make good on the promise of bringing him home. Peter swallowed and thought of home and the constant misery of it. His dad was right, they both needed a vacation. "I'm doing okay, Dad." His gaze went to the window and the summer brightness outside. "Really, I am."

There was another long pause on the other side of the line and he could see that expression in the back of his mind, the perennially worried look that Arthur had worn ever since his wife had died. "That's good, Peter." Something like relief came through his father's voice. "You have fun there..."

"I will, Dad!" Peter tried to let his smile show in his words. A sigh came through from the other side of the line and he could imagine that it was relief.

"I'll let you get to it then. You behave yourself! And don't forget to call!"

"I won't." He recognised his father's tendency to delay the inevitable coming into play and nipped it in the bud. "I'll call. But I'm sure you're busy so I'll let you go now. Bye, Dad!"

"But..."

"Bye!"

A disgruntled huff. "Bye..." Peter waited until he heard the phone click on the other end, then he hung up and turned toward Alfred.

The other boy was still grinning. "See! I told you! Now c'mon! Summer's almost over already!"

Peter couldn't quite process that nonsense. "Okay, Al."

"Call me Ace!"

Peter smirked, "Okay.  _Ace_."

"Great! Now, I'm building a tree fort of solitude and I need plenty of help! Do you know how to use a hammer?" The two of them emerged out into the warmth once again and Peter saw Yao approaching them with a tray of snacks held in both hands. Al - Ace, that was - helped himself to a few and Peter followed his lead before the two of them made their way back around to the other side of the house.

As they approached the large tree, Peter could see the half-finished tree house overhead. Movement beneath caught his eye and he glanced over. A girl peered at him from beside the thick trunk, their eyes meeting briefly before she slipped away into the trees and out of view. "Who was that girl?"

"Huh?" Alfred frowned for a moment, brows furrowing. "Oh, you mean Eliza? She's strange! She's been here like... forever. She used to be really fun, but she's gotten weird lately. I'm sure you'll meet her tonight though, if she doesn't show up before then!" The other boy was already ascending the precarious looking rope ladder into the branches.

Peter glanced back to the spot where he'd caught a glimpse of the girl. "Eliza, huh?" He raised his head, to where Alfred had already reached the top, grinning in challenge as he grabbed hold of the rope and began to climb.

 

 

III.

 

Building a tree fort took longer than Peter expected - not that he'd ever done it before. The afternoon began to wane before long, the air cooling. It wasn't until the first leaf fluttered by his nose that he noticed the changes. It wasn't green, but a brilliant red, and as he caught hold of it in surprise, he saw what he'd missed before. All of the leaves around him were red, the brilliant hues of autumn stretching out as far as the eye could see. Peter scrambled to the edge of the platform and gaped a little. "Al - Ace! The trees!"

"Hm..." The other boy turned toward him, then swore softly as his lack of attention led to him mashing his finger with the hammer. "Ouch! Mff... What about the trees?" Alfred slipped his finger into his mouth, wincing.

"They've changed colour." Peter's voice came out soft and wondering. "They're beautiful..."

"Ah! That." Alfred crept up beside him to look over the edge too. "Yeah, I guess I got used to that. It happens every day at this time."

Peter shot him a surprised glance. "Every day?"

Alfred grinned in reply, rubbing his damp finger against the side of his jeans to dry it off. "Trust me on this! You ain't seen nothin' yet!" He perked before crawling back toward the ladder. "Oh, that means you don't know! Awesome!" Alfred looked over his shoulder. "C'mon, we've got to get back to the house and get ready!"

"For what?" Peter crept after him, grimacing. "What do we need to get ready for?"

"You'll see! It'll be fun! Trust me!" Alfred descended the ladder, blithe as ever, and Peter could do nothing but follow him down.

 

*

 

Yao was sitting at the table just inside the house as they entered, Kiku curled up on his lap beside another cat - white and brown. Both of them turned their heads to regard the entering children, purring lazily before ignoring them.

"You have two cats?" Peter couldn't fathom having one, his father had never allowed pets for whatever reason. Too destructive, too messy, too everything. Though there was nothing about Yao's pets that suggested any of those things.

The man gave him a quiet smile. "I have three. Kiku you know. And this sleepy one here is Heracles. If you see the other wandering about, that will be Gupta."

"You really like cats!" Peter blurted, flushing with embarrassment as the two felines looked at him again. "Not that there's anything wrong with that!" Both cats put their head back down.

There was something different to Yao's smile at that, a light in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "They're my joy. They, and the children." Yao lowered his head for a second, a slight twist to the corners of his lips. "But you didn't come here to listen to my ramblings. Off with you, before Alfred gets too impatient."

Despite Yao's dismissal, Peter had the urge to stay. But Alfred was at the door, looking at him with excitement in his eyes and the eager bounce of his step, and Peter swallowed his words and followed.

The house was larger on the inside than Peter would have expected; going up the stairs it felt like they were walking forever. Alfred led the way, almost vibrating as he went, casting glances back over his shoulder, always with that glitter of anticipation in his eyes. As they emerged into the hallway at the top, Alfred padded down past a couple of closed doors. Peter had to see everything, never mind that it was a barren wooden hall compared to the luxury of the rest of the house. The faint shape of a trap door on the ceiling caught his eye and he frowned, halting to squint up at it.

Alfred noticed his pause and came back. "That leads to the attic, I think. I've never been able to get it open. It's probably all just dust and boring mothballs anyway." It was the tone of someone who has tried very hard to convince himself of the fact. "Come on, we need to pick out our costumes before it gets totally dark!"

"Costumes?" It worked to distract him from his wondering, especially as Alfred threw open one of the doors and Peter caught his first glimpse of what lay beyond. "Oh!" The floor wasn't even visible beneath the mounds of clothing. Alfred was already wading out into it, reaching down into the vast sea of fabric and pulling out a intricately embroidered shirt. He held it up for Peter to see. "What do you think? Is it me?"

Peter's lips twisted and he was unable to bite back the sharp snort that escaped him. "You'd look stupid in that!"

Alfred grumbled and tossed it aside. A moment later his eyes lit up and he dived into the pile. Clothing flew left and right and Peter mostly managed to avoid it as he scanned the nearest stacks. His fingers brushed against smooth red fabric and he gave it a careful tug. It came away in his hands, silk and shimmer. He shook it slightly and the colours came through as the dust fell away. It was Asian, as far as he could tell... Peter shrugged out of his shirt and put it on, the fabric settling easily around him. He brushed his hands down the front, mesmerised by the shimmer, then jolted as Alfred popped up beside him.

A cowboy hat perched on the other boy's head, a blue bandanna tied about his neck. "Is that what you're wearing? Like a samurai or something? Awesome!" Alfred squirmed past him, fumbling in his over-sized boots. "Ready to go then?"

"Go where?" Peter still had no idea what all of this was about.

"Trick or treating, of course!" Alfred was heading down the stairs without delay and Peter was forced to follow. Outside the last of the daylight was fading and a cool breeze rustled at the dead leaves, making them rattle. The moon swung overhead, a thin crescent. Peter felt a shiver run through him, gasping as something fluttered by overhead. Bats? Something else? "Spooky, huh? Halloween. It's awesome! Now c'mon, I've got something else to show you!" He was off and running before Peter could tell him to slow down. All he could do was give chase through the brush, relying on sounds to guide him when the last of the dimming light faded away.

This tactic failed him when things went quiet. No more crunching of leaves underfoot, just the eerie rustling of the wind through the bare branches and the low hoot of an owl. Peter strained to make out anything beyond the darkness, shadows forming shapes in the corners of his eyes. He was not a boy to be afraid of the dark, but he couldn't still the pounding of his heart as he ventured cautiously forward, cringing as he stepped on a twig - the sharp crack shooting right through him.

"Ace!" He swallowed, head darting back and forth as he tried to catch some glimpse of his missing companion. "Are you out there? This isn't funny!" He took a couple of stumbling steps forward before catching a glimpse of a darker form beside a nearby trunk. It was human shaped, he could tell as he squinted, and he could even make out the ridiculous hat perched upon Alfred's head. Peter went silent, shifting his weight so he could approach as quietly as possible. So Alfred wanted to scare him? Well two could play at that game!

In the back of his mind something was prickling at him, a danger sense, but he wasn't sure what it was until he was closer. Alfred's shadowy form disappeared behind the tree and Peter closed the distance, speeding up his steps as he rounded the trunk. "Aha!"

There was no one. Peter stared, sputtering a bit, his lips pulling into a grimace. Damn that Ace! He turned to go back the way he'd come - the house couldn't be that far - and yelped as something came crashing down from the branches above. In what little moonlight there was, he could see the rope around the figure's neck, the cowboy hat sitting askew atop its head. He reached out to shove it - Alfred? Could it be Alfred? Oh god... - away and caught a glimpse of the face beneath the hat, gaping dark mouth and something wet and sticky against his palms. Then the rope gave way and a heavy weight landed atop him, pinning him in place.

Peter screamed.

He flailed, trying to get out from beneath the body, panicked wheezes rising in his throat. Then he heard it, a bark of laughter from overhead. The branches rustled and there was the thunk of someone jumping down. "Oh god, that was awesome... your face..." Alfred could barely get the words out between the harsh gasps of laughter. "Oh-oh you really fell for that one!" The boy doubled over in a fit of giggles.

Peter turned red, sitting up and shoving the... body... off. Now that he was seeing it close up, his mistake was clear. It looked nothing like Alfred except for the hat. It was a crudely stuffed scarecrow - the head made from a pumpkin with a jaggedly carved mouth. The wet sliminess of it was simple pumpkin innards. "You ass!" Peter swore, forgetting himself and all the polite manners his father had tried to instill in him. "You lousy bastard! You scared the shit out of me!"

None of his yelling did anything to faze the boy who was still rolling about on the ground laughing like a loon. Peter swatted at him and only succeeded at making Alfred laugh hard enough that he almost choked. Peter's baleful glare didn't shift as the giggles finally died down.

"C'mon," Alfred gasped between breaths as he tried to replenish his oxygen, "that was funny!" Peter pushed to his feet and began to stalk away. A loud rustling followed as the other boy scampered after him. "Aww... don't be mad!"

"I"m not!" Peter emerged from the trees and paused, blinking as he felt something brush his cheek. His eyes widened and he let out a breath, seeing it fog in the light from the porch. "Whoa..." Anger forgotten, just like that. A white flake drifted past his ear and he reached out a hand to catch it, felt it melt in the warmth of his palm. A form came up beside him and he turned to look. Alfred was still flushed from the exertion but grinning widely at the sight of the slowly drifting flakes.

The two of them stood shoulder to shoulder watching the snow come down until Alfred shivered. "Okay, I'm going in. Brr... You coming?"

"In a moment..." Peter never looked away, mesmerised. Snowflakes settled into his hair. HE heard the door open and shut, then silence. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky, feeling the cold on his cheeks and smiling. The door opened again and he didn't turn. "I thought you were cold, Ace."

"I'm not Ace."

Peter let out his breath in a sharp burst, eyes opening to look into another pair of green ones, only a short distance away. The girl smiled, holding out a steaming mug with one hand. Peter took it numbly, still gaping at her. "I saw you earlier - by the tree!"

She laughed, not loud but with a clear enthusiasm. "Sorry I didn't say 'hi' then, but you looked busy. I'm Elizaveta."

"Peter." He mumbled, taking a sip from the mug to cover up his awkwardness. It was hot cocoa, the liquid scalding at his tongue so he couldn't taste the sweetness.

Elizaveta's eyes lit up. "Peter Kirkland, right?" Then, at his look of surprise. "Yao told me who you were."

None of it explained how Yao knew, but he didn't want to ask. "That's me."

She beamed and Peter smiled back. "Since you're new, you probably don't know how things work around here." It wasn't a question but Peter nodded anyway. Elizaveta's warm hand brushed against his own and he took it, on instinct. "Come inside. The best parts haven't even happened yet."

He smiled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, watching her expression light up as she led the way up the porch steps and into the warmth.

 

 

IV.

 

There was a Christmas tree in the den - yet another place in the house he hadn't even known was there. The vaulted ceilings stretched up into forever and the tree was no piddling thing but a massive pine with a trunk so wide around that Peter could not have wrapped his arms around its girth. The spreading branches were festooned with ribbons and sparkling glass ornaments.

Alfred was already there when they entered, sitting beside the fireplace. He waved at them as they drew near. "Hey, I was wondering when you'd show up! Cookie?" He held out the plate and Peter took one, careful to settle a bit further away from the hearth.

"Aren't these supposed to be for Santa?" he joked, taking a nibble. He could taste cinnamon and he wondered if Yao had made them.

"Santa is on a diet." Eliza covered her mouth with one hand to hide the smile. Peter furrowed his brows, mouth opening but no words came out as there were a series of thumps somewhere overhead. A minute later, something skidded down the inside of the chimney to land in an unceremonious heap at the bottom. The fire was mostly quelled as the odd figured squeaked and fumbled forward, dusted with soot. It didn't stop Peter from skidding back in a graceless tangle of limbs, putting distance between himself and this odd apparition.

"Buon Natale!" The figure greeted, spreading both arms wide. Beneath the streaked grey soot on his cheeks, he sported a merry grin, though unlike the normal image of Saint Nick, this man was skinny and clean cut, though dressed in the classic red suit. There was a pause as the strange 'Santa' looked to each of them, then let out a gasp. "Are those cookies, ve~? They look like cookies. I'd like some cookies. Can I have some cookies, ve?"

Another thump and a spreading cloud of soot came from the chimney as the cheerful (and very cookie-loving) Santa reached out for the plate. Another figure stumbled forth, very much like the first in appearance, except for the forbidding scowl he was sporting. "Don't eat that, you dummy!" He swatted it from the other man's hand. "We're here to give out gifts!"

"Aaah! Gifts! I like gifts! Do you like gifts?" Peter wasn't sure if he was the one being asked, but he nodded anyway. "Good! Because I have gifts!" The man retrieved a huge bag from behind his back, a move that impressed Peter since it obviously hadn't been there before. He dug around inside the bag before pulling out a large box, brightly wrapped in white paper. Little black dolphins decorated the sides, with a red bow holding it all securely. "For you!"

Peter took it, a bit gingerly. He gave it a gentle shake and heard something rattling inside. With a slight frown, he sank to the floor, sitting cross legged with the gift braced across his knees. He ran his finger along the ribbon, dimly aware of the other two kids accepting presents as well. Peter tugged on the end of the bow and it slipped free with ease. Sliding a finger beneath the edge of one flap, he nudged the tape free, taking his time as he undid the paper. IT fell away to reveal a blank box beneath.

He wasn't sure what he expected when he opened the lid. Not this though. Never this. It was hard to swallow past the lump in his chest. "It can't be..." Both hands reached inside, fingers brushing against polished wood, drawing it out as the pad of his thumb grazed the familiar curve of the prow. Peter knew the shape of it by heart, tracing the name painted on the side without even having to look. His parents had given him a toy boat for his fifth birthday, after he'd spent several months obsessing over books about sailing and pirates. Once they'd realised it was more than a phase, they'd done their best to indulge him.

Arthur had never said as much, though in hindsight it was obvious, but the toy boat had been carved by hand. Maybe not as elegant as the toys that Peter had admired in the store windows, but more meaningful. His mother had painted it and each of the wooden sailors. It would have taken weeks of work, perhaps months, but Peter hadn't known. He'd loved it for being a toy and a ship and carried it everywhere with him for the better part of four years.

"What'd you get?" Alfred peered over and Peter wrapped his arms around the wooden ship protectively. "Hey, that's pretty neat! I got a plane!" Alfred pulled a pair of goggles over his eyes as he held the WWII era model plane out and made it 'fly'.

Elizaveta sank down to site beside him, smiling. "What is it? Something special?"

Peter raised his eyes, biting at his lip a little. "Yeah. My mom and dad made this for me." He stroked his fingers over the hull. "But I lost it a long time ago!" He held it up in front of him. "How can it be here?"

The girl looked at him, a strange light coming into her eyes. "What happened to it?"

He bit his lip and slid the toy boat back into the box, folding the flaps over it. "It's a good gift. I'm happy." Pushing to his feet and past her, he approached the 'Santas'. "Thank you for the present."

"Ve? So you like it? I'm glad you like it!" The cheerful one chirped. "I told you, Lovino! I said he would like it"

"Feli... you didn't even know what was in it, idiot!"

"But... he liked it and that's good, ve?"

"So what? Don't go hogging all the credit when it's Gaius who gives the gifts!"

"Hey, hey!" Peter piped up, seeing the downcast look on that puppy-like face. "Don't argue. I liked it! That's the important part, right?" Both of them turned to look at him and he blanched a little. Well... at least they weren't arguing anymore. "Um... umm..." - quick, change the subject! - "A-and who is Gaius?"

Everyone went quiet for a second, then he heard the sharp crack of something hitting the floor. Yao was standing in the doorway, looking helplessly at the spreading mess on the smooth wood where he'd dropped the tray of mugs he'd been carrying. The cats came up around his feet, lapping at the spilled drinks - the first time Peter had gotten a glimpse of his mysterious third feline.

"Grandpa Gaius runs this whole place!" Feli piped in, his tone bright. "He made everything! He made the yard and the trees and the snow and he made-" His voice cut out in a squawk as Lovino yanked at his hair.

"That's it for us, right Feli?" He dragged the other man back toward the chimney, Feli whimpering and protesting the entire way. As they reached it, the soot spiraled and retracted, leaving the room as pristine as it had been before.

Peter ignored this new weirdness, moving to kneel beside Yao and help gather the broken ceramic pieces. "Are you okay?" He glanced over his shoulder to see the other two children. Alfred was idly fussing with his toy plane, Elizaveta was curled in one of the large chairs, looking at the swirling white outside the window. Neither of them moved to lend a hand.

"I'm fine." Yao's dark eyes were unfathomable. "You should go and enjoy yourself, young one."

"I can do that after." Peter insisted.

A hand ruffled at his hair. "Don't worry yourself over such things, Peter. Life is too short to waste... you should enjoy it while you can." When Peter looked to argue again, Yao's expression firmed. "Go."

And Peter went.

As he curled up in his bed later - sheets turned down, fluffy comforter exactly as he liked it - he ran his hands over the boat again before settling it carefully on the bedside table and turning out the light

 

*


	2. Chapter 2

 

V.

Morning brought an end to the snow. Peter woke to sunlight filtering into the window, falling in a narrow band across his face. He flinched from it, drawing his pillow across his face. The sound of chirping startled him from his renewed doze and he sat up, the pillows tumbling everywhere. His eyes refused to focus for a second as he blinked in the brightness, vision clearing only slowly. Green. There was green outside. The rest registered in a heartbeat after this first realisation - that he wasn't at home. He was here, in this strange place. Summer and Christmas and Halloween, all in one go.

His gaze darted to the bedside table where his Christmas gift of the past night was still sitting. He crept back to it, took it in his hands. The disbelief was no less than it had been last night, though his shock had been tempered somewhat. He sat cross legged on the bed, the boat in his lap, passing each of the sailors from hand to hand. There were over a dozen of them, each just as he remembered. He turned the captain over in his palm, unable to help smiling. It had been painted to look like his father, with a stern scowl on its face. He set the pieces back inside before replacing the boat in its position on the table.

Peter padded to the kitchen, pausing just inside the door. Yao was already there, hair bound neatly behind his back, sleeves rolled up, an apron tied around his middle. Whatever he was working on, it wasn't visible with his back to where Peter was standing. A cat brushed past him, dusty gold, with dark rosettes scattered across its back and sides, but it paid him no mind, going instead to where Yao was cooking.

"Good morning." Yao called out to him without turning. "I hope you're in the habit of eating breakfast, aru!"

His father had tried to cook breakfasts after his mother had been gone a while. It was inevitable that it turned into an exercise in restraint - one that Peter had mastered admirably - in not blurting out to his father about how horrible the food was. Luckily for Peter's digestive system, Arthur had figured that out on his own, thus sparing both of them a great deal of pain. Peter hadn't been much for breakfasts after that, though the smell was already making his mouth water. He eased into a chair at the table and peered over, finally getting a good look at Yao's last pet. "So you really do have three cats."

Yao turned with plate in hand, setting it before Peter on the table. "This is Gupta. He's a bit shy until he gets to know you. Then he won't leave you alone."

"Hello, Gupta!" Peter leaned over in his chair and held out his hand to the cat. Yao made a small noise in his throat, then fell silent as Gupta idled over to sniff Peter's hand. A moment later, the cat hopped into Peter's lap and curled up.

Peter beamed, darting a glance at Yao. The expression on the man's face gave him pause for a moment, but Yao said nothing, just nudging the plate at him. He took it, looking down at the contents. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, some kind of fluffy, pastry-like thing, but it looked good and smelled better. After a cautious nibble, Peter dug in with relish.

He didn't notice Elizaveta's arrival until she sat down beside him. "Gupta likes you." He froze, mid-bite, caught; blue eyes wide as he met her gaze. She was smiling at him, elbows braced on the table and feet tucked beneath her chair. "You must be something special." He would have been beaming at that point, but the earnest brightness in her eyes made him duck his head with embarrassment instead. He was grateful when she didn't continue with her praise, distracted by the food.

Finishing quickly, Peter moved to flee and couldn't budge with the warm weight still perched on his lap. He glared down at the meddlesome feline who only flicked an ear, unperturbed. Nudging didn't do a damn thing to shift the cat and Peter slumped in his seat, sulking. Eliza finished before Gupta decided to move, laughing softly at the look on Peter's face before carefully scooping the cat into her arms.

"Thanks." He slid to his feet, catching hold of his plate and carrying it to the sink. As he turned back, Elizaveta was still there, Gupta cradled gently in her arms. Both of them were looking at him with similar expressions of vague curiousity.

"I know you probably like hanging out with Alfred," the girl murmured at last, "but if you'd like a tour of the place... I mean Alfred is fun, but-"

"An airhead?" Peter supplied, when the term seemed to escape her.

Eliza stifled a laugh. "He's... excitable. I'm sure he'll be gung-ho to show you everything, but he'll wind up getting distracted before long." He nodded in response to her words, having come to the same conclusion himself.

"Uh, sure..." He fidgeted, feeling his ears turning red. "...the showing me around thing... I'd like that." She smiled, shifting the cat to the crook of her arm with surprising ease and holding out a hand to him. He hesitated, then took it.

*

"Alfred - uh... Ace - says you've been here for a while." It was the first thing he could think of to say, though they'd been walking for a long time in relative silence. The house really was bigger inside than it seemed, with more rooms than Peter could count. Toys and games were all about, stacked neatly or scattered into random piles. They'd ambled through most of the rooms, Eliza pointing out small things with a twinkle in her eyes.

There was the barest hesitation at that, her fingers brushing along the wall, a shadow coming into her expression. "A while, yes..." It didn't seem she would say more, so Peter didn't press. Just when he thought she was going to remain silent, she spoke again, voice soft. "I didn't come here like you and Alfred." She released his hand to cradle Gupta against her chest. "My parents didn't send me. I got lost and Gilbert found me." Peter could sense more to this than what she was saying and wasn't sure what made him so certain of it. "Anyway, Gilbert brought me here, and this is where I've been since. It's not a bad place to be though, I suppose." She switched tracks mid-way. "Do you like puppies?"

"Huh?" Peter didn't have time to answer before Elizaveta came over and plopped Gupta into his arms. There was something in her eyes, something of mischief and she pushed open the nearby door. Gupta bristled as a pile of pups, all the breeds he could identify and more, came crowding round Peter's feet. "Whoa! Easy! Don't be scared." He wasn't sure if his worry was more for the cat or for himself getting clawed.

Stopping a discussion with puppies.... that was pretty underhanded!

Rescue came from an unexpected source. "Hey Peter! Did you want to go- oh hey! Puppies!" Alfred went down to one knee and the entire pack rushed over to greet him, pinning him to the floor and licking his face. Howling laughter filled the air as the boy tried to squirm out from beneath the mob. "Whoa! Down! Sit! Hey guys, some help!"

Elizaveta threw Peter a grin before whistling. All of the dogs turned to her, ears perked, then immediately set to chase as she tossed something down the hall and called them to fetch. "You owe me one now, hero-boy." She teased as he made her way into the opposite direction of her toss. "Now hurry up you two, before they realise there's no ball." The three of them fled down the stairs.

"Whoa..." Alfred leaned against the wall, panting slightly, "And I thought I liked animals!" Pause. Blink. "Oh yeah, that reminds me why I was looking for you!"

Peter frowned, remembering Alfred's prank on him the previous day. He made a mental note of it - he'd have to get even later on... "Why's that?"

"I was going to see if you liked to ride - the stable has all kinds of horses!"

_Horses?_  Peter mouthed the word, not quite connecting it. Eliza was faster on the draw. "That'd be fun! Don't you think so, Peter?"

With two against one, there was little the boy could do but shrug and follow after them. Though he regretted not trying a bit harder to get out of it once they were standing in the stables and he was looking across the fence at a very large seeming horse that was eying him with what Peter imagined was an expression of dislike. "Um... I don't know about this... I mean what kind of person needs to ride one of these nowadays anyway...?" He began, turning to look at the other two.

They were both already perched on horses, both apparently very at ease with being atop the big animals. Alfred was wearing that cowboy hat again, and an impish grin as he looked down at Peter. "Not afraid, are you?" Okay... Peter licked his lips and tried to persuade himself that if both of the others could do this, then he could too!   
  
Ten minutes later, perched precariously in the saddle, Peter couldn't help but think he'd been suckered. "You both planned this, didn't you?" He clung to the reins so tightly that his fingers hurt.

"Of course not." Eliza guided her horse up beside his, smiling at him. "How could you even ask?"

"Call it a wild hunch..."

"Aw, don't be worried, Pete! Riding a horse is just like walking! Only higher. Yah!" Alfred gave his horse a kick and led the beast into a trot, leaving the other two behind. Eliza didn't follow, but chose to remain apace with Peter until the precarious experiment in horseback riding was finally over.

 

VI.

Eliza stayed beside him for most of that day, and the next couple of days, though more often than not, it was the three of them hanging out together. Toward the end of the first week though, Elizaveta didn't show up for breakfast.

"She does this sometimes," Alfred told him, when he decided to worry aloud about the matter. "She'll turn up again later tonight. She's always back for gifts." The boy tilted his head to regard Peter with a curious look. "Don't be down over it! C'mon, why don't you take that boat of yours and we'll go sail it."

"Huh?" Sail? Was there a creek nearby or something?

Alfred's grin did not bode well. "Just grab it and we'll go." But he wouldn't say more. Peter wondered what he was getting himself into now, but he didn't want to spend the day alone so he did just that.

*

There was not a creek, but a lake on the premises, apparently. "What is this place?" Peter ventured toward the dark water, pausing as his foot bushed at one of the large smooth stones ringing the edge. "it's kind of creepy..." The surface of the lake was smooth, a deep greenish blue. He almost reached out a hand to dip his fingers but hesitated just short of actually touching.

"Yeah, isn't it awesome?" Alfred enthused, grinning as he scampered right up to the edge, leaning so far out that it seemed he would tumble in at any moment. "There's fish too, but I've never caught any!"

Peter envisioned sitting at the lakeside with a fishing pole but couldn't bring himself to think of catching anything there. This was not a lake for fish, he thought, giving a slight shiver despite the summer warmth. "That's probably a good thing." He held his boat closer to his chest, no longer sure he wanted to risk it to the cold water. "Maybe we should go back? I don't know if this is a good idea..."

"What? Doesn't it float?" Alfred peered at the wooden boat, sidelong. "A boat should float unless it's made wrong." He reached for it and Peter took a step backward.

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Peter shot back, dodging as Alfred reached for it again. "Don't touch it! My dad made me this!"

Alfred blinked then withdrew, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "Fine. Geez, you could've just said so instead of being all angry about it." The other boy scuffed a foot against the ground. "So... you wanna go do something else instead?"

His eyes flicked toward the lake, brows furrowing slightly. "Not really... you should go on ahead..."

A soft sound from Alfred, disappointment or distress, but he could hear footsteps receding in the distance. Peter waited until the sounds were entirely out of range before stroking his hands lovingly over the wooden hull. A glance back toward the water, uncertainty glimmering in his eyes. So eager he'd been, the first time he'd had this gift. And now it felt in his hands just as it had in his memory, so real and yet...

Perfect. Imperfect. Peter dropped to one knee on the cold stones, fingertips grazing the surface of the water. The wooden sailors stood proudly on the deck as Peter released his hold. It floated. It did. Straight out of his memory and given form, the boat hung on the water's edge, serene and magnificent.

It was all he needed to see. Peter reached out again, further than before, it had drifted a bit - fingertips grazing the wood. His tongue flicked out over his lips in concentration, he strained a little further.

There was no warning, just the emergence of something black and sleek, huge dark eyes, a gaping mouth. Peter recoiled, staggered, his foot slipped on the perpetually damp stones of the rim. It was less a sensation of falling than of the water rising up to meet him. He flailed, felt the brief solidity pass through him and then he was on the other side, water rising greedily around him and pulling him in, pulling him down. He kicked, instinct grabbing hold of him, pushed for the surface then felt the air leave his body in a series of bubbles as he saw light glinting. For a moment he thought he'd gotten the direction wrong, that he was turned around, because the light was coming from below.

But no, there was still light above him and he prayed it was the right way to go as his lungs screamed with need. A flash of dark scales from the corner of his eye, when he was too desperate to be scared, and then he broke into the sunlight again, gasping, scrambling to pull himself ashore. As his breath same in shudders and coughs, he saw his boat from the corner of his eye, breaching onto her side, the sailors tipping toward the edge of the deck.

They hit the water and sank, sank where it seemed they should have floated. The boat followed behind as Peter watched - slowly engulfed by the dark and the wet.

Some part of him could appreciate the irony - the rest was more concerned with the chilly wetness of the clothes clinging to his body. Peter staggered to his feet, shivering as he made his way back through the trees.

*

Warmth and fresh cookies awaited him, and as he sat wrapped in a blanket and sipping the hot tea Yao had made for him, the memory of the panic and the darkness was already starting to fade. As Yao's cats curled up around him, a purring heap of small bodies, Peter could almost forget the whole incident at the lake.

Halloween and Christmas again - a stuffed bear he'd had when he was three: Paddington in raincoat and boots - and the lingering remnants of the lake seeped from his memories. But in his dreams he could remember, dark water and dark fish and the eyes on him with that blank hungry stare. He woke with inexplicable tears drying on his cheeks.

  
VII.

Days passed, idyllic warmth. Despite Peter's protests, Alfred seemed determined to teach him how to ride. The tree house neared completion, with a little help from Eliza. It was the longest continuous period of time he'd seen her, hair mussed and flecks of paint on her cheeks. She'd laughed and Peter couldn't help but laugh along.

Evenings went slower - Peter unable to resist the urge of trying to find some way to get Alfred back for that stupid trick with the scarecrow. For being a complete dumbass, Alfred was a hard guy to trick. He didn't seem to get scared by anything except ghosts and Peter had yet to master pulling off the perfect ghost. Peter scuffed a foot against the hardwood floor and glanced out the window. Alfred was out at the stables again and Elizaveta was nowhere to be found. Again.

He glanced up as Yao brought him something to nibble on. "Hey, thanks. This looks wonderful." Despite his frustration, he was more than willing to dig in, no matter what the concoction, Yao hadn't disappointed him yet. After a long silence, Peter pushed the plate away. It was good, but not satisfying.

"Is something troubling you, child?" Yao moved to sit beside him, lap immediately occupied by two cats. The third crawled into Peter's lap and began purring up a storm.

"I don't know... I really like it here but Eliza's been avoiding me and Ace just can't take anything seriously. And he's just...ugh!" Peter banged a palm against the table, making the tea tray jiggle. "Sorry. I just don't get it. Why aren't I happy, Yao? I've got everything I want!"

"Sometimes Peter, it's not about what you have or want as much as what you need." It was about as indecipherable as a fortune cookie and Peter snorted, pushing the plate aside.

"I guess s-" He cut off in surprise to see another person sitting at the table. It was one of the Santas - the cheerful one - and he was eying Peter's leftover plate with intense interest. "Um..."

"Hello, ve! Are those treats? Are you going to eat them?" He gave a slow, longing stare. Peter swallowed and gave his head a slight shake, watching the man's expression light up. "I would like those. May I have them?" The boy gave the plate an uncertain shove toward him. All those nights of gifts and he still had no idea what this guy's name actually was. "Grazie!" -came the high coo. "Lovino never lets me have snacks. You won't tell him, will you?"

"Uh... no." Peter's baffled gaze went from the brunette to Yao, who only averted his eyes a little, still petting his cats. "Why can't you have them?" It was asked more for the sake of having something to say than any real desire to know.

"I'm allergic, ve. He says they'll make me sick." On instinct, Peter reached out and dragged the plate back out of reach before anything could be snagged. A hurt look fixed on him. "Why did you do that? You said I could have one!"

"Not if it's gonna make you sick!" Peter pressed his lips together stubbornly, as his father had always done when giving him the same lecture. "You shouldn't do things that are bad for you!"

He felt a quiver run through him as the voice responding to his words was not the one he expected. "Wise words, Peter. But at what point does 'bad' become relative?" Yao caught the frown, the furrowed brows. "What I mean, Peter, is that there are points where what you get from doing something bad for you outweighs the risks of it. To know when this is, though, is a skill not commonly mastered. Are you done with your plate, aru?"

The normally smiling man sat there dejected. After a moment's hesitation, Peter touched his arm. "Don't be unhappy! I mean... it'd be sad if you got sick, wouldn't it?"

It was the first time he'd actually seen the guy's eyes. They were warm and golden when open, astonishment creeping across his cheerful face. "You would be sad?"

He could hardly say no to that look. "Y-yeah, I'd be sad." Peter reached out and patted him on one shoulder, hearing the hum coming from his throat. A brilliant smile was thrown in his direction.

"Then I guess that's okay, ve!" A pause, then, "Do you like to draw?"

"Huh?"

*

Art hadn't ever really been his forte, unlike the constantly cheerful Italian man - whose name he'd finally learned, was Feliciano or just Feli for short. Peter's attempt at a cat came out as a twisted gargoyle like thing with a face that looked like it had gone a few rounds with a blender. Even Heracles had turned his nose up at it, which was saying something. Feliciano only gave the softest of tsks and then carefully assisted him at adjusting one of the beast's hideously malformed paws. "I don't think I'll ever get this right," he mumbled, and Feliciano patted at his arm.

"It looks fine." Cheerful sing-song voice that Peter still couldn't figure out. If he was lying, it was hard to tell.

"It looks terrible!" A voice came from behind and Peter jumped, felt his heart doing erratic palpitations in his chest. "What is it?" Alfred stood behind him, holding an ice cream cone which he was lapping at in frantic bursts. It didn't help, the ice cream was running down his fingers in the lingering afternoon heat.

Anger welled the brush clenched in Peter's white knuckled fingers, then tossed aside. A soft 've' and a call of "Hey, what's the matter?" followed on his heels as he stormed off.

*

A knock at the door, just a soft one before it was pushed open a little, enough that he looked up to see Elizaveta entering the sitting room. She seemed as though she was going to say something, but whatever it was, it died at the expression on her face. "You look terrible!" Not what he wanted to hear, not even from her. Especially not from her. "What's on your mind, Peter?" Some part of him bristled at the question while another found a mild humour in her timing. All day he'd wondered after her and now that he didn't want her company - or anyone's - here she was. Peter sank into his chair and stared sullenly into the fireplace.

"Not right now, Eliza." He gritted his teeth, hoping she would take the hint and leave, but she remained where she was, her gaze on him. He didn't want to see her expression because he was afraid of what it might be. Concern was almost worse than the possibility of anger.

Finally she moved, sinking down beside him on the couch, thankfully silent for a few long moments, her gaze following his to the logs. At last she cleared her throat, just a small sound. "It looks different when it's not lit." Stupid small talk, but a tremor ran through Peter anyway.

"I like it better like this." The words escaped him before he could stop them and he flinched a little. This time she saw it, even if she hadn't before. He could see the slight motion from the corner of his eye; her turning to look at him. Peter damned his small slip. Eliza was smart enough to put pieces together - she wasn't flighty and distracted as Alfred often was.

"You don't like fire, do you?" Eliza's voice was so quiet... he might not have heard it if he hadn't been sitting right beside her. Yet still he turned away from her a bit, head hunching into his shoulders. She didn't laugh, which was only a small part of what he'd feared. "It's okay, you know. There's nothing wrong with being afraid of something."

"I'm not afraid!" He snapped back, harsher than he'd intended. "I just don't like it, that's all!"

"Peter-" Her tone was gentle, placating, as she rested a hand against his arm. The voice, the touch... it reminded him too much of...

"Just stop it! Stop asking me questions! Stop patting me like I'm a stupid kid!" Whirled around, so quickly that he didn't even register the move, "Don't talk to me like that! You're not my MOM!" Dad. He'd intended to say Dad. It was the word on his lips...

It wasn't the word that came out though. Peter shuddered at the sound of it. How could it still hurt every time, after so long? He vaulted off of the couch, caught himself in the awkwardness of his own limbs, and hit the floor with a thump. Eliza was beside him in an instant, trying to help him up.

"It's okay!" There was something about her voice, soft but still frantic somehow. It wasn't until they'd been like that for a while and the blood was no longer pounding so hard in Peter's ears, that Eliza ventured another question. "Peter..." He knew what she was going to say and he couldn't stop it. "What happened to your mom?"

Blue eyes went wide, met Eliza's green ones and locked for a moment. Then he shoved her back, scrambled to his feet. Ran. He never looked back to see if she was following.


End file.
